Warm
by ashehole
Summary: Her life has been a series of more downs than ups, but every little victory counts. Five times things went right for Regina Mills. Drabble set.


**i.**

He screams and screams, and Regina squeezes her eyes shut and counts to three. Not that she thinks her willing him to calm down is actually going to work. No, that's not how it works. The counting is going to help her from breaking another plate.

She counts her blessings that she never had children with Leopold now, that he never even brought up the idea.

She opens her eyes again, takes a deep breath, and picks up a squalling Henry. He's bright red and his skin folds, tiny fists flailing. The frustration that clenches at her chest isn't angry at him, but a sort of helplessness that's been plaguing her since the beginning of this stupid idea.

"I just want to make things better for you," she whispers, holding her son tightly against her and rocking back and forth on heels that are more likely going to cause her neck to break than they are to quiet him.

But his screams dissolve to muted whimpers in mere seconds as her hand gently strokes the back of his head, feeling the soft fuzz of his hair.

Regina gives a choked laugh. "You know, I'm not always going to fall for this, Henry. You can't just cry and expect me to pick you up again."

They both know she's lying, though.

* * *

**ii.**

Snow brushes her shoulder against Regina's, and she starts without meaning to. A scowl tugs at her mouth, brings her eyebrows down over her eyes as she glares at the younger woman. There's nobody around, thankfully, but it really wouldn't do for the others to see the Evil Queen getting caught unaware.

A faint smile ghosts over Snow's lips, her eyebrows perking up in amusement. The exact opposite of herself, of course. That's always been a strange part of their relationship, two sides of the same coin melting together.

"What is it?" Regina snaps, but there's nothing sharp in her tone.

"I thought that maybe you'd like to have lunch with me today."

She pauses, once again thankful that nobody is around to catch the expression on her face. She raises her hand, as if to flick the request - to flick this irritating person - away from her so that she can ponder her anger and revenge more. Because that's easy. That's comfortable, an old sweater that still fits.

Snow doesn't flinch at the hand and waits instead. She doesn't even watch Regina, just stares out the window of their castle.

Lunch. She supposes that she is hungry. She supposes that she would like company while she eats. She supposes that Snow would have to make do for that particular company.

And if she feels warm? It's not because she was invited to a lunch that's rightfully hers anyway, it's simply because of the lack of air conditioning in this world.

* * *

**iii.**

"Mother?"

Regina finds her elegant mother seated next to a spindle, tucked away in a corner. She pauses in the doorway of the room, almost immediately regretting calling out. Regretting going to find her mother, if the dark look she shoots her is any indication.

The look lasts only for a moment, though, before a smile replaces it. It doesn't quite reach her mother's eyes. She looks from the spindle to Cora, brows furrowed in confusion.

Cora stands, long gown sweeping over her feet, clapping her hands together. It's as much to get Regina's attention focused solely on her as it is to express her enjoyment. The dress her mother had ordered has come, after all, tight around her waist, dipping at the bust to show off those budding bosoms of hers. Regina hates it. Hates every bit of lace and silk and how it squeezes her sides and how she keeps getting caught in the skirts.

But she loves the expression on her mother's face, the glowing expression of pride, the sheer joy that shines in her eyes.

She almost forgets about the forlorn expression that Cora had been wearing as she sweeps her daughter up in a tight hug.

"Oh, my. You look absolutely stunning, Regina. I couldn't have imagined a more perfect dress for you," Cora croons, her hands sliding to Regina's face as she cups it.

"I'm not really sure that red is my color," Regina finds herself saying. Her voice dips into a whisper. "And everyone can see my chest."

"My dear, that's the point." Cora wraps an arm around her daughter's shoulders, forcing her out of the room and away from the strange spindle. But now it doesn't matter, not when she's done something that has made her mother happy enough to spend time with her.

* * *

**iv.**

Regina kisses Daniel not because he's the only boy she's ever really spent time with (except maybe it is). She kisses him because she likes the way he looks at her when he thinks she's not paying attention. She kisses him because he's her choice and definitely not her mother's, and that's something way more thrilling than she's ever wanted to admit.

She kisses Daniel because she really wants to. Maybe she's been making up the way he looks at her, and maybe she's just that much desperate (but she's young and maybe a little impetuous and more her mother's daughter than she'll want to admit in later years, too).

It's only when he kisses her back that she realizes that she's finally gotten something back that she's wanted, and it has absolutely nothing to do with Cora.

* * *

**v.**

She admits - _hesitantly_ - that watching Emma fall might have made her heart stop for about a second, and perhaps she pushed the idiot too far and maybe the fact that she was giving anyone lessons was all but laughable. In a second, she imagines the heartbreak on Snow's face and wants to kind of pitch herself off that cliff, too - and she hates every second of that feeling. In a second, she imagines Henry's pain, and _definitely_ moves to help Emma out.

Sink or swim sounded like a good idea before she collapsed the bridge out from under her.

She sucks in a breath, brain starved for oxygen, when Emma hovers in the air, looking more confused than victorious. And Regina laughs.

She laughs because, for the first time in a long time, something that she did helped someone else. And there's a power in watching her one and only student flap her arms around like some moronic, featherless bird.


End file.
